


Delivery

by threeplusfire



Series: Bad Things Come In Threes [9]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Breathplay, Car Sex, Drowning, Fae manipulation, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Garbage Court acquires a new business, Smith gets a job, and Ross discovers a dangerous new game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delivery

Smith stood there, bemused. 

“Ross, mate.”

“Yeah?”

“You know, you’re already made of rock.”

“I am well aware of that.” Ross managed a little laugh.

“Then what the hell?”

“I wanted to see how many he could do,” Trott said without looking up from his magazine.

“Pretty sure I saw this in some 80’s movie once, one of the ones about fighter pilots or army guys or something.” Sips was stretched out on the sofa and Smith leaned against the back of it, nose wrinkled in consternation.

“This is absurd,” Smith declared.

In the middle of the living room floor, Ross methodically did pushups. Trott sat cross legged on his upper back, reading a magazine with Ross’ tail hooked around one ankle.

“Come on Smiffy, quit being so negative. Come over here, I’ve got a great view of Ross’ ass like this.”

“Course you do, he’s naked,” snorted Smith.

“I don’t have to wear clothes at home if I don’t want to,” Ross pointed out, sounding pleased with himself. 

“That’s right, you don’t,” agreed Sips. 

“Maybe you should do some too,” Trott mused as he flipped the page. “How many pushups can you do, Smith?”

“I get enough exercise, thank you very much.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that.” He looked up at Smith, coolly appraising. “I know you’re not bowling and I don’t think that really counts anyways.”

“It’s a sport Trott, of course it counts.” Sips chuckled and patted his stomach. “Smiffy bowls sometimes.”

“Sips,” Smith growled. “Shut up.”

“What, was that supposed to be a secret?” He looked up at Smith, a sly smile on his face.

“How many are you on, Ross?” asked Trott.

“One hundred sixty three. One hundred sixty four.” 

“Damn Ross,” Sips whistled. “Come on Smiffy, let’s see how many you can do.”

“I am not doing that with Trott sitting on my back.”

“I thought we’d already established I’d ride you whenever I liked, sunshine.” His smile was sharp, and he fingered Smith’s keys in the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Trott,” Smith whined softly. His fingers tightened on the back of the sofa. Sips watched them with interest, tilting the brim of his cap back so he wouldn’t miss anything of Smith.

Ross lifted his head a little.

“You want me to stop?”

“You’re fine.” Trott patted his shoulder. “Come over here, Smith.”

Reluctantly, Smith pushed off the sofa. Sips folded his arms behind his head.

“How long are you going to keep those?” Smith asked in a quiet, serious voice. 

“Do you want them back?”

“Of course I fucking do,” Smith ground out. He looked away from Trott’s raised eyebrow.

“Come here,” Trott repeated, a little more edge to his voice this time. Smith skulked around the sofa, dragging himself against it as if it was a reliable shield against Trott’s demands. 

“You have to stop making me do things like Ross.”

“I’m not making you do anything right now, Smith.”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Trott dropped the magazine on the floor.

“Ross, stop at two hundred.” 

“Alright.” Ross kept count silently, watching his shadow on the floor. 

“Aww, you aren’t going to let him keep going?” Sips said with some disappointment.

“Sips I’m pretty sure he could keep doing this all night if we let him.” Trott pulled the tail wrapped around his leg, fingers tracing the ridges in the glass. Smith hovered between the sofa and Trott now, a little unease to his gaze.

“Two hundred,” Ross said with quiet satisfaction. He let himself back down to the floor.

“I don’t think it really counts if you don’t have actual muscles.” Smith’s voice was sarcastic.

“You want to do it then?” Ross retorted as he waited for Trott to slide off his back. He uncurled his tail and stretched out along the floor.

“I’ve got something else you can do,” Trott said suddenly.

“What?” 

“I need someone who can drive.”

“Drive where?” Smith asked suspiciously, testing the offer for the hook.

“It’s for a courier service. Small packages mostly. Maybe documents. Nothing too big at first.”

“Okay one - why? Two - when did you start a courier service?”

“Bought, not started.” Trott looked very pleased with himself. “Also technically it is in Sips’ name, so it is his business.”

“I’m really a hands off kind of CEO,” Sips noted. “Trott’s my operations manager.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has to hire someone to run the damn thing for him, and I have to find someone to handle some of the more… important deliveries.”

Smith tipped his head to the side and glanced at Sips, all curiousity now.

“Is this what you did before you moved here?”

“Nope.” He smiled tight lipped and secretive, the way that made Smith grind his teeth in frustration. Sips was never forthcoming about his life previous to the past year. Only that he was from Canada, he bowled and he was distinctly uninterested in anything that seemed like actual work. He had a lot of offhand, careless knowledge about things but none of it seemed to tie together. The missing story itched in his head, and Smith wanted to push until Sips spilled his guts. He didn’t know if it would be good or boring, but he wanted to know.

Trott spun the keyring around his finger. Smith watched him, following the flash of reflected light. He wondered if he could snatch them back.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” Trott warned. He closed his fingers over Smith’s keys. Ross rested his head on his arms and watched from the corner of his eye. Trott was still sitting on his back.

“Here I am.” Smith stepped over them, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. Hooking his fingers in Smith’s belt, Trott pulled him down onto his knees beside Ross.

“Sit,” Trott said firmly as he shoved Smith back. Hastily, Smith yanked his hands out of his pockets and propped himself up. Trott climbed off Ross and moved into Smith’s lap, elbows propped on his shoulders. Ross sat up and twisted around. He glanced at Sips, and then back to Smith.

“Your king requires your service, and I need you to do this without murdering every person you come in contact with.” Trott rubbed a hand into Smith’s hair. “I need to know if you can do this without me watching every fucking thing you do.”

“Said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“Saying and doing are different things.” He scratched Smith’s scalp with his nails, watching him lean his head back into the touch.

“You didn’t have to do it this way,” Smith said in an accusatory tone. 

“Yes, I really did.” Trott dangled the keys in his other hand, letting them bump against Smith’s back. 

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends, sunshine.”

“Not like this.” Smith twitched as Trott rubbed the keyring between his fingers. He wanted to flip Trott onto the floor, pin him down and rip his keys back. 

“Friendship isn’t always nice, Smith.”

“If you tell me you’re doing this for my own good…”

“You’re the most beautiful piece of chaos I’ve ever laid eyes on, Smith.” His lips brushed Smith’s ear as he spoke. “I just don’t want you to burn down what I’m trying to build.”

Smith sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Trott leaned back to look at him fully.

“No killing… yet.” Trott smiled when Smith opened his eyes a slit. “Delivery guys get invited into lots of interesting places. Learn a lot of names. Most people don’t think about that.”

“True.” Smith considered this fact. 

“So during the day, you’ll have these back.” The keys were cold on the back of Smith’s neck. 

“And at night?”

“You give them back to me.”

Smith suppressed the shiver and closed his eyes again. The only thing worse than Trott holding onto his keys was the idea he might hand them back willingly. 

“Trott…”

“You’ll get them back for good, when I’m absolutely sure you’re not going to fuck this up for me.”

“Anyone ever tell you what a sadistic bastard you are?”

“Not nearly enough,” Trott laughed. He nuzzled Smith’s hair, looking over to where Sips lounged with an appraising expression on his face. Ross watched them, the private smile they shared over Smith’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or disappointed not to be in the middle of whatever was happening there. 

 

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t so bad, as far as work went. Trott only sent him to very specific places, the buildings he wanted to be sure they could all get into or to people he thought might be useful. Usually that only meant a couple of things a day and his time was still largely his own. Sips went down to the office once or twice a week, mostly to complain about how it looked and to sign some paperwork. They kept most of the staff, once Trott was certain about them. Only one witch in the office, and no other fae. Not yet anyways. Smith turned on the charm, to make his life easier and because Trott hadn’t told him not to do it. They all liked him, made his day more pleasant. 

Smith wondered if Trott’s prohibition on killing extending to fucking as well. He was reluctant to push the line though. That made him angry with himself, for not just doing things and for thinking about them first. He didn’t like changes he didn’t get to make for himself.

Sometimes he took Ross along for the ride, because then he could leave the car idling at the curb and save himself the trouble of parking. If he couldn’t pick anyone up, at least he had some company and Ross didn’t seem to mind. Smith complained about Ross not having to do any work but Trott just smiled and ignored it.

“You don’t see many delivery guys in fancy cars like this.”

“We’re a classy business.”

“Is that it?” Ross laughed.

“Shut it, or you can walk home.” Smith pulled into a parking garage. Ross expected him to park diagonally across the loading zone or the delivery spaces but he continued up and up the ramps.

“Where are you going?”

Smith just gave him a look and turned up another ramp.

The top of the garage was bright with sunlight, cold and clear. Ross smiled, enjoying the height, and the view of the downtown buildings. 

“Seriously, what’s up here?”

“Absolutely fuck all mate.” Smith gestured at the empty expanse of space, the half melted snow, and the empty concrete. He killed the engine.

“Hmm.” Ross reached up to tap on the sunroof. “Can we open this?”

Smith slid open the panel to reveal the glass, and the bright blue sky overhead. Clouds scattered shadows in their path, pushed along by the steady wind.

“Leave the glass closed, or it will get freezing in here even with the sun.”

Ross leaned back in his seat and tipped his face into the light. They were quiet, comfortable in their silence.

“Did you bring me up here to drown me?” Ross asked finally.

“Can you even drown?”

Ross shrugged. “Maybe? I do a lot of other things.”

“No, I didn’t bring you up here to drown you.”

“Do you want to try?”

Smith looked at Ross, brow furrowed. Ross shrugged again.

“You’re in a mood, and you have been ever since this started.”

“Maybe because he’s keeping my fucking keys, Ross.”

“You know I don’t begin to understand that.”

“I know,” Smith snapped even as he felt the surge of anger drain away. It wasn’t really fair to yell at Ross. “You’d probably like it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ross said. “I at least get to choose.”

“But you didn’t - I burned down your church and took you without asking.” Smith wondered if maybe this was punishment somehow, for so many times he didn’t bother to ask.

“Smith,” Ross laughed. “Do you think for a second that you could have burned that place down if I hadn’t _wanted_ you to do it?” 

Smith looked at him for a long moment, taking in the graceful lines of Ross’ arms and shoulders as he slid out of his jacket. He thought about all the street fights he’d seen Ross get into, and wondered what it was like to get punched in the face with a stone fist. Ross twined their fingers together on the center console.

“What can I do?” he asked softly. His thumb stroked the back of Smith’s hand. 

“Get in the back seat with me.” Ross bit off a laugh and climbed heavily between the gap of the front seats.

“You’ve never fucked me in your car.”

“Haven’t I?” Smith asked. “That can’t be right.”

“Mm, nope. Never.”

“You’ve fucked in my car before. There was Will, and the time we went to that place off Seventh…”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t you.” Ross stretched up and nipped at Smith’s lip to pull him into a kiss. He tugged at Smith’s unfamiliar clothes, the dark blue shirt and trousers of the delivery service. Smith had refused to wear the hat, declaring it ridiculous. He also left the name tag, with its fake name, sitting on the dash. With the top two buttons undone and his sunglasses, Smith looked less like he was wearing a uniform. Ross pulled the sunglasses off and chucked them towards the driver’s seat. 

“Show me what you do to them, then.” 

“Ross-”

“What?” He pulled Smith forward so he sat across Ross’ thighs, trousers stretched uncomfortably tight. Ross’ hands kneaded his thighs, sliding back to squeeze his ass. 

“Fine.” Smith pressed him back against the seat, rocking his hips in Ross’ lap. He dialed up the charm, letting the magic catch at Ross. His pale eyes widened and his hands tightened their grip on Smith’s hips. Smith pushed it further than he’d ever done, using it like a sledgehammer instead of going for the subtle slow seduction he used on mortal things. He stroked Ross’ face, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips part soundlessly.

“Wouldn’t you do anything for me right now?” The sound of his voice made Ross shiver and push his face into Smith’s hand.

_“Fuck,”_ Ross moaned. 

“Oh, we will.” Smith touched the tips of his fingers to one of Ross’ horns. He felt the change in the air around them, a thickness to it that made the afternoon sun feel a little darker. Beneath him, Ross gasped.

“Smith, oh fuck Smith.” 

“Is it what you expected?” Smith asked curiously. Ross shook his head, dazed and slow. He blinked and focused on Smith.

“How is everyone in this city not dead?”

Smith laughed, a little too loud. He bent down to press his lips to Ross’ forehead, smoothing his hair back. Carefully he reined in the magic just a bit, lessening the maddening swirl of it. 

“I do have some self control.”

“Well don’t use it now,” hissed Ross. “Please-” He broke off with a little sound and tightened his grip on Smith. 

“Please what?” His voice was soft and whiskey sharp in Ross’ ear.

“Fuck me,” Ross growled. 

“Take your jeans off then.” Smith slid to the side to help him, shamelessly letting his hands linger on Ross’ thighs. Ross fumbled with the boots and the jeans, as hasty and clumsy as any human in the backseat. Smith grinned at him, shifting Ross’ tail out of the way and trying to keep Ross from catching him accidentally with the barbed tip. It hurt like hell, and he didn’t want to bleed on the seats. Half naked, Ross helped pull Smith’s trousers down.

“You have underwear on,” Ross said in an amused voice. He palmed Smith through the flimsy fabric of the boxer briefs, enjoying his obvious arousal.

“It’s cold outside.” He pushed into Ross’ hand. Ross laughed and kissed Smith, running his tongue over sharp teeth. 

“Up you go.” Smith pulled Ross onto his lap. He was solid and cool against him. For a half second, Smith wondered if he shouldn’t find some other position given how absurdly heavy Ross was. Trott’s snarky comment about exercise came back to him. 

“Is this what you do to them?” Ross asked, nuzzling Smith’s hair.

“Most of them.” Smith’s smile was predatory, hungry. He couldn’t resist the temptation to make Ross’ blue eyes go wide again, using everything he knew about the magic to work Ross into a state. It felt sweet to be in control of something again, and Ross gave himself up so willingly. 

The cold of Ross’ cock warmed quickly under his hand. Smith savored the breathless little sounds Ross made, the way he begged Smith for more, how he tried to hold himself up against the seat back. Smith stretched forward, reaching for the back of the front seat and the stash of lube he kept in easy reach.

Ross’ cock rubbed against his stomach, the bumps along the underside dragging against his skin. He pushed one finger into Ross, delighted with the way he moaned. The second was quick to follow and Ross fucked himself on Smith’s fingers. His tail tried to wrap around Smith’s arm.

Ross tried to lean up, banged into the roof of the car and Smith chuckled. He wrapped long fingers around Ross’ throat and pulled him down for a kiss, swallowing the curses and pleas. A loud smack startled Smith.

“Ross, don’t you fucking knock out a window, I like this car.” He pulled his fingers out of Ross, ignoring his protest and grabbed the gargoyle’s restless tail. Maybe such a heavy hand with the magic wasn’t the best idea, he thought. Ross out of his mind could do a lot more damage than a human. Smith eased up a little even as he pulled Ross down onto his cock.

“There you go,” he breathed out. Ross closed his eyes and gripped the seat beside Smith’s head, shifting his legs wider to sink down. He was not nearly so warm as a human, not as blood hot and slippery with sweat. Inside he felt smooth and slick, like glass or polished stone with just the slightest give. Smith didn’t know and didn’t care what made this possible, so long as he could shove his cock into Ross and enjoy the sensation. 

_“God,”_ Ross groaned. “Smith.”

“Am I now?” He panted, watching Ross. The light shimmered around them. Water pooled on the leather seats, ran in rivulets to the floor. Smith tried to hold on tightly, carefully. He didn’t want to accidentally kill Ross doing this. But he did want to see just how far they could go. He was too used to getting what he wanted as often as he wanted it and these weeks without touching a single mortal heart wore on him. 

Ross’ eyes flicked open, bright in the deepening gloom. He opened his mouth and a startled expression crossed his face as Smith took all the air out of the car. 

“No place left but down,” Smith whispered. One hand on Ross’ hip and one on his shoulder, Smith thrust up against his weight. It was tricky, until he coaxed Ross into moving his hips. He was certainly less frantic than a human, rocking himself slowly against Smith. One hand traced the line of Ross’ thigh as he eased himself up and back down.

Ross was mostly certain this couldn’t kill him. It did feel so much harder to speak though. The air was syrupy and wet with Smith’s magic, shading the light and muffling the sound in his ears. Ross opened his mouth, straining for a breath that wouldn’t come. It hurt just a little, a dull ache, but he didn’t actually have to breathe. The pain of it was sweet, spurring the desire in him. Turning his head from side to side, he tried to clear his thoughts. But everything was just the heat of Smith underneath him, urging him forward and the running stream of magic. Easy enough to forget to breathe with that happening. No wonder they died so easily in Smith’s arms. Ross couldn’t blame them.

Ross looked so much more wondering than frightened. Smith stroked both his hands down Ross’ ribs, trying to move him faster. He hadn’t done this in too long and his self control eroded quickly. Smith wrapped one hand around Ross’ cock to get his attention. Their eyes met, Ross’ now the brightest thing in the car.

“Enough?” Smith asked, his voice rough. He pushed up into Ross, feet braced against the floor and ankle deep in the standing water. Ross shook his head.

“Don’t stop,” he managed. It was starting to burn in the back of his throat. Ross felt the water pushing down on him. He closed his eyes.

Smith moaned, a deep sound. He relinquished the tenuous hold he had on the water as he stroked Ross’ cock to encourage him. Usually he didn’t let it come so fast but he couldn’t wait, it had been too long, felt too good and Ross surrendered himself so easily. Smith let it crash over both of them, reveling in the sensation. He could feel the strain in his forearms as he pulled on Ross, willing him to speed up because this couldn’t wait any longer. 

They were underwater, sinking. Ross kept his eyes closed and opened his mouth, letting the water fill him up. Smith’s hand was quick and tight, and Ross flexed his thighs to push himself down on Smith’s cock. The feeling was almost like being drunk, like the one time they bought that truly evil whiskey from the Whip In and drank too much on the roof until he felt lighter than starlight. The pleasure and pain of it blurred together and Ross came with a barely audible gasp. He let himself sag forward, his face pressed into Smith’s hair as he rolled his hips. Smith’s fingers tightened on him and Ross could feel his climax in the way the magic roiled and crashed over them like a storm breaking.

Around them, the water receded as Smith came back to himself. Ross kept his eyes shut and leaned his head against the back of the seat.

“Up,” Smith whispered in his ear and Ross slid off to the side. He coughed, spitting out the water still in the back of his mouth. Smith exhaled, stretching his legs.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Ross cracked his eyes open. His shirt clung damp to his chest and the carpet under his bare foot felt soggy. But the sunlight was back, bright and cold. He took an experimental breath and coughed again. Ross shivered.

“Are you sure?” Smith yanked up his trousers and slid along the slightly wet seat. Ross nodded, trying not to cough as he struggled with the unpleasant, tickling sensation of water still in his throat. Smith hooked one arm around his neck and pulled Ross closer. 

“I don’t think I can drown,” he said finally. Ross rested his head on Smith’s shoulder, feeling immensely tired.  


“Huh.” 

“It felt good though. Strange. It hurt. But it was good, too.”

Smith stroked his shoulder, feeling the cold creep back around them. He wanted to stay like this, curled up against Ross in the hazy afterglow. But the sun was setting fast into clouds, and it was freezing outside.

“Don’t tell Trott about this.” He didn’t want to consider Trott’s fury if he knew what Smith had done, the risk he’d taken. Even if Ross had asked him for it. Trott would point out that Ross had no idea what he was asking for, and that Smith hardly knew how to keep from killing once he started. He wouldn’t be wrong. Smith wondered if this counted as breaking his promise, since he hadn’t actually killed anyone.  

“Right.” Ross nodded into Smith’s neck. He wrapped his arms around Smith, still thinking about the darkness of the light, and the water.

“Let’s go home and get warm.”

 

* * *

Disheveled and half frozen, Smith dropped the paperwork back at the courier office. Ross pressed his nose to the window and watched the snow falling as they drove home, the radio turned to something low and soothing. The snow made him feel like they were drifting up into the sky. He wondered if one could drown in snow, or if that was a different kind of thing.

Smith let the front door slam behind them. He winced at the chill when his hand brushed over Ross’ arm. 

“You are freezing, go hop in the shower before Trott finds out I kept you outside all day.”

Ross chuckled and playfully batted his tail against Smith, making him yelp at the cold.

“Come with, then.” He wondered if Smith would try to drown him in the bath, if it would feel different there. 

“Give me a minute.” Smith pushed him down the hallway. 

In the kitchen, Trott leaned against the counter eating a slice of leftover pizza. Smith pulled beers out of the fridge, handed him one. Should have kept Ross for another minute so he could open it, Smith thought as he banged the cap against the edge of the counter.

“Good day at work?” Trott asked, only slightly sarcastic. 

“All done, all delivered.” Smith flipped his keys in one hand. “Think I am going to have a long, hot shower. Hard day and all.” He glanced at Trott and then away. 

“Mmm.” Trott took a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He spun the bottle on the counter, shaking away the chill of it. “Before that - time’s up.”

Smith balked and his eyes narrowed. He gripped the keys hard enough to leave their edges imprinted in his palm.  

“Trott, really, don’t do this,” protested Smith. “I know how to keep my word.”

Trott didn’t say anything, just stared at Smith with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Trott,” Smith said, trying hard not to sound desperate.

“Give them to me.” Trott’s voice was so level and calm. It reminded Smith of Trott taking his keys in the first place, the way he spoke so calmly while taking Smith apart bit by bit.

Smith looked at his keys and pressed his lips together to stifle angry, pleading words. He didn’t want to actually beg Trott, not again. Finally he held the keys out, arm stiff and straight. They jingled softly, silvery in the light. When Trott picked them out of his palm, Smith’s fingers tightened reflexively and there was a moment where they both held on, staring at each other. Smith let go. It felt terrible and unnatural to hand over his bridle like that, to willingly give up his control. Smith didn’t see this leading to anything good. He breathed in through his nose.

“It’s going to be alright, Smith.” Trott reached up, his fingers curling to brush his cheek affectionately. His other hand pocketed the keys. Smith watched, unable to look away.

“Trott, this is fucked up,” Smith sighed. He ached to put his arms around Trott, wanting the comfort even if he was angry, and just a little bit afraid.

“Trust me.” Trott smoothed Smith’s hair back. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope so,” muttered Smith as he picked up his beer, and forced himself to walk away before he tried to take them back.

Ross was perched on the edge of the bath, running the water murderously hot so the air filled with steam. He took a deep breath, sucking in the warm air and his tail twitched happily. Being warm was superior to being cold, any day. It helped that it usually meant someone or everyone would find some reason to sit closer or even on him. Ross enjoyed it when Trott would stretch full length on top of him or Sips would tuck his feet underneath Ross’ legs. 

“Hey,” he called when he heard Smith bang open the door. “Shut that before you let all the heat out.”

“Fuck Ross, it’s a sauna in here.”

“I was cold,” Ross said, just the tiniest bit defensive. “We’re both cold.” He sighed, observing the way Smith clenched his jaw and yanked his clothes off with quick, jerky movements. He adjusted the faucet so the water wasn’t quite so scalding. Behind him, Smith tossed his clothes onto the bathroom counter.

Smith stepped into the tub, beer in one hand. He stood, tense and straight and closed his eyes against the falling water. Ross kept silent, listening and waiting. Finally he rose and pulled the curtain closed against the water splashing onto the floor. He leaned into Smith from behind, hands curled protectively around Smith’s shoulders. Ross pressed his lips to the back of Smith’s neck. Smith lifted his thumb from the top of the bottle and took a swallow.

“He won’t keep them forever,” he said.

“You sure about that?” Smith’s voice was edged with anger and yearning. Ross rubbed his thumbs along the tight lines of Smith’s neck and kissed him again. It pained him to see Smith so miserable. Ross wasn’t sure there was anything he could say. He concentrated on digging his fingers into the muscles of Smith’s back instead, trying to rub the tension away. Ross moved his hands lower, his hands slow and steady. Smith didn’t speak, but Ross was acutely aware of the tiny movements he made, every shift back into Ross’ touch, each time he lifted the bottle back to his mouth. Ross lost track of time, keeping his hands moving up and down Smith’s back. Smith patted him as he finished off his beer and Ross hummed happily. 

 

* * *

Showered and back in his regular jeans and shirt, Smith curled up into a corner of the sofa. From his spot on the floor, Ross looked up at him questioningly, a beer in his hand. Smith shook his head, drawing his knees up to his chest. The hollow ache of his empty pockets made him both irritable and tired. 

“Where’s Sips?” he asked as Ross popped the cap off a bottle with his tail. The coffee table was littered with beer bottles, stray bottle caps, a giant bag of M&Ms, a pizza box with greasy fingerprints, two empty glasses, junk mail, a crushed pack of cigarettes, a half melted candle, matches, the wallet Ross always forgot to carry and a couple of plastic spaceships from a vending machine.

“Bowling team meeting, something about a new league judge.” 

“Right.” Smith sighed and leaned back into the sofa. He watched Ross idly flip channels until he landed on a movie, one of those long, slow crime movies with lots of city shots and a good soundtrack. It was a favorite of theirs, and Smith had probably seen it twenty times by now. He could watch it again. He nudged Ross with his foot, and Ross set the remote down. Smith left his foot on Ross’ shoulder.

At the other end of the sofa, Trott watched Smith from the corner of his eye. Tense and guarded, he didn’t even take up half his usual sprawling space. He chewed on his lower lip, and remained uncharacteristically quiet. Ross glanced up at him, something troubled in his expression. 

Trott sat up, pulling the walrus skin off his lap and reached for Smith. He tugged at the sleeve of Smith’s tshirt, coaxing him into uncoiling and crossing the invisible line between them. There was a moment where Smith hesitated. But Trott’s mouth pressed open to his shoulder, halfway between a nip and a kiss.

“Come on, sunshine,” he whispered. Propping himself up on the arm of the sofa, Trott shifted so Smith could stretch the full length of the cushions. With his skin draped over them like a blanket, he carded his fingers through Smith’s hair, combing out the damp waves.

Against his back, Smith felt the steady rise and fall of Trott’s ribs, the arm resting against his shoulder. Fingers moved slowly over his head, gently rubbing his scalp and smoothing back his hair. The skin stretched long enough to cover him all the way to his toes. It smelled like Trott, deep water and salt, no matter how long he left it unguarded and how many times someone spilled popcorn or beer on it. Comforted by the familiar sensations of Trott’s hand in his hair, and Trott’s skin, Smith watched the movie through half closed eyes and let his thoughts drift. Drowsy with warmth, he remembered the first time he slept with Trott, actually slept beside him. How they had curled together in a burned out apartment underneath Trott’s skin on a chilly spring night after Smith started a bar fight when someone tried to keep Trott from leaving. The leather was buttery smooth, protecting them both against the breeze and the dark. How strangely safe it felt for such a fragile thing.

Smith knew his keys were in Trott’s pocket, close enough for him to reach out and touch. Close enough to almost be in his own pocket, the way they were pressed together. The temptation to reach for them was strong, and Smith tucked his hand under his head to quell his restless fingers. He wanted them, but he also wanted the comfort of Trott petting him and keeping him warm. He could endure this for a little while longer, if he didn’t think too much about it. Ross’ head leaned against his knee and Smith reached out towards him. Without looking away from the movie, Ross lifted his tail so Smith could grab hold of it. Easier to not think about what he could do if he kept his hands occupied.

By the time Sips strolled in, wearing his satisfaction with the evening like a halo, only Trott was still awake. Ross and Smith dozed, and the television had switched to another movie.

“How’s bowling?” Trott asked, his voice low. Sips stood at the end of the sofa, looking down at them with faint amusement.

“Fantastic. How’s business?”

Trott smirked and gestured at the others. Smith sprawled, taking up the majority of the cushions. Ross slept half turned to the sofa, his head resting on Smith’s leg. His tail curled around Smith’s wrist.

“Business is good. No trouble.” He looked down at Smith, traced his fingers through his hair.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Sips clapped his hand to Trott’s shoulder with an easy grin, giving him a little squeeze. 

**Author's Note:**

> The film they are watching at the end is Heat, an absolutely stunning drama directed by Michael Mann. 
> 
> Thanks as ever to my friends who read early drafts, encourage me to use commas responsibly, and write better.


End file.
